A crooked path
After Robert Frost, ‘The Road Not Taken’
There’s a crooked path through life’s dead wood
That a lonely traveller might see
And maybe at the end I just could
With some little sense, might sense some good
And take me to a new mystery;
Yet wonder to myself if that’s fair
For a way that’s straight is just the same.
Oh, the path bends crookedly just there,
And no matter how hard I stand’n’stare
Can’t see the end take another name.
So, the crooked path leads me away
And lets the mystery take me back
Along a journey through night and day
Which matters little in this foray
For it’s dark along the winding track;
And yet for all that, it seems that I
Must tread the crooked path whence
I came before, and believe that my
Travelling will help me rest and try
To believe there is a difference.
© RM Meyer
Winswell Water, February 2020
